


Two Of Us Are Just Young Gods.

by bispaceprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Halsey - Freeform, Inspired by Music, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bispaceprincess/pseuds/bispaceprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She had read once about gods of war and death, that people had prayed to before they entered battle and wondered if they felt like her after it was done. If they shuddered when they were revered, that they prayed themselves to fade away and be forgotten or if they wanted to be taken and punished for what they had done. Finn had killed 18, and she had killed him. She had killed 300, who was going to punish her?"</p><p>Bellarke post S2 fic based on 'Young Gods' by Halsey</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Of Us Are Just Young Gods.

Clarke’s eyes fluttered shut as Bellamy moved his hand up her thigh, reveling in his touch.

“Bellamy,” She says in an almost whine when his movement stalled.

She could feel his breath as he exhaled against her neck, where he had been kissing her hard a moment before. His breath was hot, but it sent chills down her spine as it came into contact with the remainder of his wet kisses.

“Clarke…” He murmured and pulled back and off of her to look at her fully.

She was laid out on her bed of furs, pale hair fanned around her head like a halo, bare before him. All golden skin in the candlelight.

 

* * *

 

She was so different from when he first saw her again.

When she had left she had spent time on her own, trying to atone for what she had done. But the silence was too much. She had said that she couldn’t look them in the face after the events of mount weather, but the truth was she couldn’t look at herself either. She tried to drown them out, running for miles and miles. Her feet blistered and bled and then formed calluses. Her heart tried to follow suit but never seemed to get past the first stage. It would help a little, the pounding in her head would get replaced by the pounding of her feet. But the thoughts would always sneak back, louder than before.

In the end the decision was made for her, she was running again and ran right into a group of grounders, wearing heavy furs, ones like what she should be wearing with the changing temperatures. But since she had broke down crying the last time she tried to hunt an animal, she hadn’t had much of a chance to procure them. They had taken her back to their village. As she walked through the main area she could hear them whispering all around her, “ _Wanheda, Wanheda_.” Commander of Death. She hated it. She hated the title, she hated the awed tone with which it was said, she hated that when she brought to the Ice Nation's leaders tent she had stood up and greeted her warmly, instead of suspicion and disdain.

She had read once about gods of war and death, that people had prayed to before they entered battle and wondered if they felt like her after it was done. If they shuddered when they were revered, that they prayed themselves to fade away and be forgotten or if they wanted to be taken and punished for what they had done. Finn had killed 18, and she had killed him. She had killed 300, who was going to punish her?

She had traveled with the Ice Nation to Polis, to dethrone Lexa, only to find that they had been beaten to the punch by another nation, who had learned of her involvement at Ton DC. She had slunk off to the wastelands, a Heda no more. Clarke wished she could be deposed too.

Everywhere she went in Polis she heard it. Wanheda. She hated even more than the things she had called herself in the woods. At least she knew she was a monster for what she had done. They said it like it was something to be proud of. Clarke learned how to be selectively deaf. She felt like she was constantly wading through water, every step was laborious, every sound muffled and distant.  
  


* * *

  
Then Camp Jaha sent a group to Polis to negotiate the new alliance and she didn’t have enough time to leave. _Liar,_ she told herself, she had enough time, she just couldn’t. She dreamt about their faces every night until they came and she realized that they were just ghosts in her mind but they were so much scarier in person.

Of course the person she wanted to see the most was Bellamy. She hung back in the crowd when they walked through the gates, trying to be inconspicuous. She wanted to see them, she had to admit that to herself, but she didn’t want them to see her. She must have known how foolish that was. How could she not remember how he always knew her, always saw her, always found her. No sooner had she seen him but their eyes locked on one anothers. His face went from surprise to anger in a second. She felt like he was Medusa, and she a hapless warrior, no Perseus, turned to stone at his gaze. He turned away and stalked after their group, dismissing her with nary a word.

Clarke deflated. She had worried for weeks, ever since she heard they were coming. It was almost gratifying that it was as terrible as she thought it would be.

Later she found him again. She entered the room where the leaders talked and held back her grimace when she heard someone announce her as Wanheda. She could feel his stare like a knife from across the room. Her hair had been bound up and away from her face in the grounder style, and she had dragged the kohl around her eyes. It was like armor, and even though they weren’t at war she felt like she was going into a battle.

It was Kane that greeted her first, warmly and sincerely. He pulled her into a hug, but she felt brittle and hard, like a blown glass ornament, too delicate to touch without fear of breaking.

She greeted the rest of the small envoy, until only Bellamy was left. Only Miller was kind enough to avert his eyes as they faced one another.

“Princess,” He said softly. Somehow that soft voice carried more venom and hurt than a scream. She shuddered.

She couldn’t handle it, she turned on the balls of her feet and paced out of the room. With only enough control to keep her from breaking into a full out sprint. She reached her quarters and stumbled in before collapsing onto her bed, taking heaving breaths. She pressed the heels of her hands harshly into her eyes, trying to will her tears away.

No sooner had she got there but he joined her.

“No,” He said in the harsh tone she had wanted before. “You don’t get to fucking do that again, Clarke.”

She wanted to give him a good retort but she couldn’t take a deep enough breath to accomplish it. Instead she whispered out, “Do what?”

He came closer, never taking his eyes off her.

“Run away,” He spat out, his voice like a knife. It cut right through her to the bone. God she was so tired of running. So tired.

Then as he regarded her, her makeup smudged from her hands, her cheeks flushed from her panic and run, her baby hairs frizzing out around her face, coming out of her braids, he added dejectedly, “Leave me.”

The tears that she had tried so hard to push back down came, out of her control now, “I’m so sorry.” She got out through heaving sobs.

He came over to the bed slowly, like she was a wild animal that would be scared away by sudden movements. She shrunk away despite herself. She wanted him to hold her so badly, but knew she didn’t deserve his sympathy, his compassion or a little voice in the back of her head whispered, his love.

“Please Bellamy,” She said quietly, not sure herself what she was asking, whether it was for him to leave or for him to stay. He made the decision for her. He gathered her in his arms. Her face went automatically to the crook of his neck, where she had placed the lightest of kisses when she had left those months ago. Where she had kept her gaze as she said goodbye, knowing that she couldn’t look him in the eye and leave. Where she had buried her face and inhaled his scent when she had ran into his arms for the first time, after she escaped mount weather and realized that despite what she thought (tortured herself over) she had not killed him. Where she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world.

The force of her want overwhelmed her and she jumped back like she had been scalded.

She wasn’t allowed to want this. She had decided awhile back that she wasn’t sure if Lexa was right, that love was weakness, but it certainly hurt. She had lain awake at night thinking about the people she had loved and lost, and worse, loved and left. Picking at their memories like a scab. If Finns punishment had been a knife in his heart, hers would be a hole in hers, the size of everyone she had ever loved.

“Please, I can’t.”

He searched her face, trying to understand. He must have found some answer because he nodded slightly before standing and walking towards the door. Just as he was about to leave he turned his head slightly, not quite facing her, “You know I meant it that day, right?”

“Meant what?”

“That you were forgiven.”

“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” She said bitterly.

“Deserve has nothing to do with it. It’s yours already. You just have to believe it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” She asked plaintively.

Now he turned back towards her and looked her in the eye, “Don’t you know? Together.”

With that he left, and she took a deep breath before collapsing into tears against her pillow.

She stayed in her room for the rest of the day. After she had run out of tears she replayed his words over and over in her mind.

  
The next day the delegation finished their work in Polis and prepared to leave.

Bellamy approached the gates to depart and willed himself not to look back, to see if she was there watching. It was hard enough leaving her last night. The broken look on her face, he wasn't sure if he would be able to see her with that mask on, pretending it was alright as he walked away. 

He was so resolute on not looking back and seeing her that he almost missed her in front of him, but there she was, just outside the gates. Gone were her braids and war paint. She wasn’t the Clarke that had come down with him from space, but neither was she the shell of the person she became after Mt.Weather. The tentative look on her face almost broke him, he had tried so hard to cultivate his anger against her, and managed a few lashes at her he knew, but the fact that she was scared to try and come back with them made him feel ashamed for his part.

He gave her an imperceptible nod and the tension that held her body tight dissolved. She fell into step with him, perfectly in sync like they had never been apart and they headed home.  
  


* * *

  
She extricated herself from Bellamy and fell back against the furs, breathless. She had not been expecting for this to happen tonight.

  
She had been back at Camp Jaha for a week now, after a fortnight long journey from Polis. It had been awkward and uncomfortable being around everyone, but Bellamy had been right. With him by her side it had been okay, not great, but okay, and she knew it would get better over time.

She had said that she couldn’t see their faces without seeing what she had had to do to get them there, but she had been wrong. Without them it had just been her and her pain. But here there was so much more. There was their smiles, their burgeoning romances with one another, their happiness and sometimes even their sadness. It wasn’t perfect, but it was living.

She had been watching Monty delicately flirt with Miller across the fire, all soft stolen smiles and absent touches when she felt him behind her.

“Bellamy,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off the fire.

He moved around the log to sit beside her. Close enough that she could feel his warmth radiating across the distance.

“It’s better,” She said, after a moment of silence. “You were right. It is better.”

He turned to her, her eyes were obscured by the flickering of the campfire but he looked into them and seemed to understand something she hadn’t figured out yet. Some truth that still eluded her. She stood up and extended a hand out to him and he took it, following her hand in hand to her tent.

Once they got inside she turned to him, eyes beseeching. She took a step forward and tilted her head, so she could still see his face. The moment felt simultaneously still and pulsing. They hadn’t done anything, but still both of them was breathing rapidly, heartbeats racing, not daring to make a move. Clarke’s eyes flickered down to his lips, and he murmured out what she was sure was supposed to be a warning, but sounded more like a plea, “Clarke…”

She hadn’t touched him since Polis. Avoided even the small touches she had indulged in before they left, the brush of fingers, the casual squeeze of the arm. She knew that if she started touching him again she would never be able to stop. Not having him was supposed to be her punishment, but she didn’t want to be punished anymore. She wanted to have him, and be had by him and come out of the darkness into the light. She wanted it so bad.

She rocked up onto her toes and pressed their lips together, she had meant to do it passionately, but it came out more tentative than not. All the hesitancy disappeared when he wrapped his arms around her like a vise, held her as tightly as he had the first time they hugged when she escaped Mt. Weather. She had been back in camp for a week, but this felt like she was coming home.

After that, they were frantic. Only dragging their mouths away from one another to pull off their shirts, like they were magnetically attracted, the force too strong to resist. They stumbled blindly over to the bed platform and Clarke fell onto her back, with Bellamy following, chasing her mouth. Her thighs spread automatically and he fell into their cradle. Her panties already had a growing wet spot, which only increased the friction as he ground against her firmly. With a moan from her when he found the exact right spot he pulled his mouth away from hers and dropped it to her neck. She reached down and with a wriggle her panties were removed.

“Bellamy,” she whined as he started to pull his hand up her leg.

“Clarke,” he replied as he pulled back to watch her.

She tried not to squirm under his gaze, she wanted to bare herself to him, body and soul, but after flinching away from any emotional intimacy for 3 months it felt slightly unnatural. She looked him straight in the eye, “Please Bellamy, I need this.”

“Do you need this? Or do you need me?”

“You, I need you. I need you to make me feel like a human again.”

His face softened as he dropped to cage her head between his arms and bring his lips so close to hers that she more feels him than hear him say, “Don’t you know you’re so much more than that Clarke? So much more.” With that he captured her lips with his and there were no more words.

 

After they caught their breath, he got off the bed and padded across the room to blow out the candle before rejoining her. She hesitated for a moment before giving in and fitting herself into the crook of his arm and tangling their legs together with a sigh. She started to slip into sleep when she was interrupted.

“Are you finished running now?” He asked in the dark.

She could hear the hesitancy in his voice. She knew that he couldn’t ask her this in the daylight. She brought her hand up to cup his cheek and answered, “No.”

She could feel him begin to frown so she added, “But I’m finished running away. I’m finished running alone. I’m ready to run together, you and me, running towards our redemption.”

She felt him let out a sigh of relief then pull her into him tightly.

 

Sleep eluded her for a while longer, she stared at the roof of the tent and thought about her time on this earth, after she had fallen from the heavens like a star. How she had tried to be good, but ended up destroying so many people like she was the fiery blaze her arrival foretold her to be.

She felt like her life had been sectioned off, before and after Mt. Weather. She was never going to be able to go back to before but at least now she was living in the after, instead of staying in purgatory.

She thought back to the gods of war and death she had spent so much time trying to understand. She might not be immortal, but she wasn’t done yet. Maybe she was a monster for what she did, but she wasn’t a ghost. That wasn’t the end of her story. She hadn’t stopped existing, stopped living. She had kept going. The gods couldn’t go away, couldn’t stop existing and neither could she.

It might take her the rest of her life to atone for the things that she had done, but she was going to try. Maybe that’s all they had wanted too. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but as she looked over at Bellamy, lying peacefully beside her she felt a flicker of hope that they would be able to figure it out together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://klokkombikru.tumblr.com/)


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